The Last Goodbye (BOTFA Extended Endings)
by athenasdragon
Summary: A series of oneshots adding to/slightly altering canon for the end of the third movie. Covered so far: Alfrid, treaty between Bard, Dain and Thranduil. Still coming: Thorin's funeral, Legolas/Thranduil conversation, and more. Will probably update VERY slowly. Apologies in advance.
1. Alfrid's Last Goodbye

**A/N:** This is the first part of a (very late) birthday fic for a close friend. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEARIE! Anyway, each short oneshot will explore slight alterations/additions to the canon of _The Hobbit: BotFA_ where characters get better endings or storylines are resolved better. This first one is the one I feel most strongly about.

Short stories like this one will probably first be posted on my Tumblr, the link to which is on my profile.

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**Alfrid's Last Goodbye**

Alfrid stumbled away from Dale, the cold coins down the front of his dress clinking uncomfortably against his chest. Occasionally one would slip lower and he would have to claw at his skirts until it dropped out between his legs like some kind of shimmering flat egg.

His stringy hair was clinging to his face by the time he reached the outskirts of the ruined Laketown. When was the last time he had washed? Never mind that now. All that mattered was the gold.

Throwing himself into a splintered boat which rocked and shuddered under the weight of his bounty, Alfrid snatched up the remains of an oar and frantically began shoving himself across the lake. If he could reach the other shore, he was sure, he could make his way up the river and trade for provisions with a ferryman or wandering ranger.

The black water around the vessel began churning. It was a languid sort of disturbance, the kind which might be mistaken for a shoal of fish in motion or a log passing beneath him, except for the eye. Alfrid saw the huge golden sphere through a crack in the wood, rising towards him through the ash-choked water, and paddled faster.

A long nose broke the water. Huge nostrils flared, sending spray high into the air.

"Not possible!" Alfrid squealed, resisting the urge to look behind him. "Not possible! Bard shot the blasted beast!"

"Beast?" a low voice growled, sending ripples through the choppy water, but it was rather less menacing than it had been. Alfrid shrieked and whipped around, spilling coins into the boat and the lake with a series of tiny splashes. Two eyes, their lids drooping and looking like dying embers, stared into his own. Sodden wings stretched along the top of the water at odd angles. "You are the one carrying away my gold, thief."

"I'm not the thief!" Alfrid cried, his voice high and breaking. "It was that hobbit. And—and if you want to eat someone, eat Bard. He shot you with the black arrow. He was the one to—"

Smaug snorted again, drenching Alfrid. "I am dying, tiny thief. I have no time for seeking vengeance." Suddenly rows of long teeth faced the greasy man, stained with blood and smoke. "Except from one who steals my gold under my very nose."

Alfrid's scream was cut short by the splintering of the boat and the burbling sucking noise of something great sinking beneath the surface of the lake. Eventually, the water stilled, disturbed only by the warm wind blowing from the remnants of the burning city.


	2. Peace Treaty

**A/N: Haha oops. Time flies. Also: I enjoy fictional politics too much.**

**Anyhoo, this is the next oneshot in the series. Here, Bard takes the lead on a peace treaty between the men of Laketown, the elves of Mirkwood, and the dwarves of Erebor.**

**Happy best friend day to sonsofmahal and sorry that I'm so bad at updating on any kind of schedule! You are so amazing and I would write a million pages of fanfiction to make you happy (though it would probably take a million years).**

**Enjoy! Please R&amp;R.**

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"It is a somber occasion which brings us together, my friends," Bard said in the common tongue. He looked across the table at his two soon-to-be allies. As the new Master, he felt that it was his duty to forge such an alliance between the Mirkwood elves and the newly-reinstated King Under the Mountain. He only wished that so much bloodshed had not been necessary to make it possible.

"Aye," Dáin agreed. "This treaty will bring happiness to my people, yet times are dark."

They looked to Thranduil, who had been watching the diplomatic proceedings with an uninterested gaze. They were gathered in his large tent of green silk, seated around a gleaming oaken table and drinking crisp wine from silver goblets. It was difficult to believe that the pristine guards at the door had seen battle less than a week previously, or that the very ground beneath their feet was still freshly churned by an army's boots.

The elf king finally inclined his head. "I, too, believe that such an agreement could be beneficial to my people."

Bard pulled the treaty towards him and began reading it aloud. Two each of dwarven and elvish diplomats were at hand to make sure that there were no misunderstandings in translation. He described the agreement slowly and carefully: there would be no hostilities between the three peoples; any disputes must be settled diplomatically with representatives from all three parties present; there would be regular meetings between leaders and no restrictions on trade.

When he had finished the various advisors conferred with their leaders for a few minutes, no doubt arguing over the minutiae of trade routes or the frequency of meetings, but eventually the small party fell silent. Dáin and Thranduil watched Bard, who had no advisors with whom to confer, as he laboriously scratched his signature at the bottom of the parchment. Dáin took it next and heated his crested ring over the tallow candle at the center of the table before pressing it to the treaty. It left a scorched black emblem which flared and flickered with a dark light before fizzling into permanence. Finally Thranduil signed with an elegant quill, whispering something as he went which caused the ink lines to curl like snakes over the paper until they came to rest in a complicated, expressive knot.

Dáin stood suddenly, grinning. "Excellent! Enough business, it's time to celebrate this new peace." He made a rapid gesture with his hand and four dwarves entered the tent bearing two chests between them. "My people have been scouring the dragon hoard and we have come across several more white-jeweled elven treasures, which I return to you now as a sign of goodwill. There are also three mail shirts crafted from Mithril and a ceremonial dagger set with fire amber. These I present to the Mirkwood Elves as a sign of goodwill."

Thranduil bowed his head graciously as the chest was opened to reveal the sparkling white metal and gems. The dagger proved a sharp contrast with its ashen scabbard and blazing orange ornaments. "And to Bard and his kin, a dozen of our strongest chestplates and longswords, forged at the height of Erebor's glory, and the weight of a dragon's foot in gold. We also pledge our help in rebuilding your cities as thanks for your valor in slaying Smaug."

Bard's eyes widened at the priceless contents of the chest. "My Lord Dáin, your generosity is most welcome!"

"And I present twelve barrels of our finest berry wine each to the dwarves of Erebor and the men of Laketown," Thranduil cut smoothly over the end of Bard's thanks. "My guard will extend their patrols to your borders to ensure the safety and prosperity of our neighbors."

Dáin and Bard thanked him. When they had finished, Bard stood. "I'm afraid I have no treasure or fine drinks to offer you, my friends. I pledge our friendship and eternal gratitude to both of you and the devotion of myself and my people to upholding this treaty. Any favors we can do to repay you, you have only to ask." The two leaders nodded as though they had expected such a speech.

"However…" Bard continued, his mouth pulling into the beginnings of a smile, "there is some small token I can give you now." He strode over to hold back the flap of the tent so that Dáin and Thranduil could follow him outside.

On the muddy, stone-scattered earth of the battlefield before the lonely mountain, a cluster of perhaps two dozen children had firmly planted their feet. They held brightly-colored objects in their arms which were difficult to make out from such a distance. They shifted their weight back and forth but dutifully waited for Bard's signal.

This he gave by raising his arm high and barking out some unintelligible word. The children all leaped in the air and released the shapes into the wind—they were kites, the three could see. An orange sparrow ducked under and around a blue eagle as a cluster of green and silver diamonds dipped and twirled around them. A strange red cube with gold streamers soared elegantly above the rest. Velvety black butterflies, yellow flowers, and geometric shapes in every color of the rainbow danced against the streaked clouds.

"We found them in an undamaged cellar in Dale," Bard explained. "The children wanted to patch them up and give them a try. I know that they can't compare to fine weapons or jewelry," he hurried to add, "but they are all we have for now. If you think that the children of your kingdoms might find some enjoyment with them…?"

He glanced at Dáin; it was the first time he had seen him truly smile since Thorin's death. There was no diplomacy in his grin, just plain enjoyment. "Ah, what a fine sight! I remember the children of Dale flying their kites each morning as the sun rose. Dwarves are not particularly adept at harnessing the wind," he chortled, "but that doesn't mean we can't appreciate such skill." He fell silent once more as the children spread apart, eager to try more intricate loops and dives.

"Indeed," Thranduil mused. "What curious trinkets."

The three leaders stood in almost childlike awe, heads tilted back to the blue sky as the kites wheeled and slid through their field of vision. It was an entirely different kind of battle from the one they had won a few weeks previously—one with no real victors, for everyone would finish the afternoon with flushed cheeks and laughter on their lips.

They smiled.


End file.
